the view reminds me of your bay window.
the window you would always look out of, as if it was your only friend and you were afraid to lose that friend.
the bonny snow that you were so sickeningly pale like in your last few hours.
dear lord i worded it as if you were dying!
no no, you didn't die. you just poofed away.
the pine tree here resembles the pine tree in the snowglobe i gifted to you.
the city skyline that is no where near as pulchritudinous as the city that grew with family, friends, lovers, and lost kids.
the houses from this view are much the same as the houses from speíge street.
yet, it's not your bay window view is it?
YOU ARE READING
旋风 ⋮ єsєís
Poetryi still think about the mornings we had. the mornings where you would sing and dance. swaying your head and arms, like no one was watching. you were happy. but i know you would cry yourself every night. cry every time you bathed. i failed to notic...
